


A Substitution

by colormejaded



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Fluff, M/M, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:10:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colormejaded/pseuds/colormejaded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon can't find his favorite hoodie, but he can't sleep without it. He'll have to find something else...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Substitution

“Jon?”

“Yes, Brendon.”

“Have you seen my hoodie anywhere?”

“What hoodie, Brendon.”

“The like, purple one?”

“No, Brendon.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Brendon.” Jon doesn’t have to try to keep a straight face anymore. This is probably the fourth time the kid has asked him where the stupid jacket is. He always thought it made Brendon look somewhat less than heterosexual, if that was even possible, and wasn’t the biggest fan of it, but he didn’t do anything to it directly. At this point though, he’s kind of wishing he could take credit for it.

Face drooping, Brendon heaves a sigh. “Ok. Thanks, Jon.”

For a second, Jon almost feels guilty for not helping him more, but then he remembers the time Zack forgot about the Red Bull quota and Jon woke up with gummy worms threaded through his second-favorite pair of flip-flops. He doesn’t feel guilty anymore.

“Hey, Spencer?”

Jon would also like to tell Brendon to use his inside voice, but with pipes like that and a one-track mind (and selective hearing to boot), that isn’t happening any time soon. He buries his head in the pillow lying on the stiff couch in the lounge.

As soon as the door to the bunk area slams, the outside door creaks open. Jon looks up. Spikey hair juts through before a long pair of legs belonging to an equally long body follows. Ryan is clutching a bundle of clothing, his grey suit jacket with white accents wrapped around it.

“Nngh, Ryan—“

Eyes flashing, Ryan darts down beside him. “Jon, I swear to god, if you say anything, I will tell Zack that you gave someone an unauthorized interview,” he intones, face deadly serious. “Get up for a sec.”

The show from the night before wasn’t a doozy, but it wasn’t tame either, and from the combination of Brendon’s desperate whining and the pounding bass drum (he will have a talk with Spencer later), Jon has a headache. “Why the hell—”

“Fucking get up!” Ryan hisses.

He doesn’t really have much of a choice because Ryan yanks him up by the elbow and practically shoves him against the too-small round table a few feet away. In a few swift movements, he opens the top of the bench and stuffs a suspiciously lavender-colored article of cloth down as far as he can. Then he closes it, and drags Jon back over and pushes him on top of the bench. “Don’t. Move.”

Arranging his hair (although Jon thinks it looks pretty much the same 24/7, but who’s asking), Ryan slides his jacket on, and settles on the other side of the lounge, swinging his feet up on the rest of the bench and pulling out a paperback from his pocket.

A few crashing noises come from behind the closed bunk door, and two yelps. Seconds later, Brendon emerges, rubbing the right side of his head and holding a bright-colored shoe. Jon assumes Spencer’s head is also feeling the after-effects of the drums from last night. He can’t really blame him for being grumpy.

The silence lasts until Brendon spots Ryan, and he dashes over to him. “I’m about to take a nap. Ryan, have you seen my hoodie?”

Ryan puts down his book, _opic of Can_ visible across the front. “Which one?”

It’s really hard for Jon to stifle his laughter. He manages.

Brendon puts on the face of a kicked puppy. “My purple one. It’s my favorite, you know. I have to have it with me when I nap, otherwise I toss and turn the whole time.” He sits on the end of the bench with Ryan’s feet and lays his head back against the window. “I don’t know why I’m so tired…”

It’s a good thing the kid isn’t looking, Jon thinks, otherwise Ryan’s cover would be totally blown. His face is barely moving, but his ears and forehead shift back slightly, focus heightened.

His fingerless gloves almost make half of his hands blend in with the bench cushion as he puts them down and shifts his weight to them. “Hey, Bren?”

“Yeah?”

“I have an idea, but I’d have to go get it. Why don’t you lie down and I’ll be in the bunks in a second, ok?”

No tears have been shed, but Brendon sniffles anyway. Spencer was right in saying that Brendon was the one with the acting talent. “Ok.” He trudges back to the bunk area, gingerly bringing the bright shoe with him.

Ryan slowly stands up and runs his hands over his face.

“Make sure you use protection,” Jon chirps. Ryan flips him off and follows Brendon’s trail of crocodile tears, nervously playing with his worn gloves as he goes.

Finally, Jon settles back into the pillow again, and all he can hear is some birds tweeting outside. He’s always been fond of nature. It seems to like him, too.

A thump comes from the bunks, and Jon tries not to groan. Spencer comes through the door, looking annoyed. “I am not sure if the sight of two men cuddling has ever been more awkward.”

Jon rolls his eyes over to Spencer, who is now leaning against the table. “Are you sure that’s all they’re doing?”

The bitchface comes in full force, and Jon shrinks back into his pillow. He didn't ask to be roasted alive. He just wanted a nap. 

“I’m not sure either of them is ready for anything more, but it’s still awkward as hell.” Spencer stands up and gets a Pepsi from the fridge. He pops open the tab and sips slowly.

Light snoring drifts in through the cracked open door.

“Well,” Jon smirks, “he won’t be needing that piece of clothing anymore.”

Spencer snorts. “Do you want to hunt for the dumpster after I finish my drink?”

Jon grins.


End file.
